


take the parts that I remember

by ohmcgee



Series: ohmcgee's mallverse [59]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, Drug Abuse, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt, attempted overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 19:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12282582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/  1-800-273-8255





	take the parts that I remember

The motel room Harvey got, the first one he came across, smells like piss and mold covered up with bleach. He’s been laying on the floor since Tuesday, except for when he walked across the street to buy a bottle of whiskey, then drank that and passed back out on the floor again. The floor of the motel room smells even worse than the rest of it. It’s covered in stains from god knows what and still Harvey can’t talk himself into getting on the bed. He doesn’t deserve crisp, clean sheets and a fluffy pillow. He doesn’t deserve Bruce or Jason and he’s so angry he let himself believe anything different.

Above his head, Harvey's phone buzzes across the nightstand for the hundredth time. Harvey pulls himself up off the floor, sees Bruce's name flashing across the screen, then walks outside his room and tosses it into the algae infested pool. 

He’ll never be good enough for Bruce. He’ll never be worthy of Jason’s compassion and generosity. He’s always going to be this: broken, angry, and selfish.

And he’s tired.

Tired of fighting. Tired of pretending to be a person when he’s nothing but a monster. Tired of lying and manipulating people into believing that he’s changed, that he’s better, that he can ever love them the way that they deserve to be loved. He’s tired of knowing that this is the way it’s always going to be. 

He’s just so fucking tired.

And it's easy. He doesn’t even have to get off the floor, the pills and whiskey are in his reach. He pours a handful of the tiny, oval-shaped blue pills into his palm and drops them on his tongue, washes it all down with a long, burning pull from the bottle. Then Harvey lays his cheek back on the filthy, stiff carpet and he thinks about how stupid it is how everyone says that taking your life is selfish. Selfish is staying alive and hurting the people you love over and over again because you don’t know how to be anything but a monster. Selfish is thinking you have a right to exist in the same world as people like Bruce and Jason. Selfish would be going back to therapy again and wasting everyone’s time.

This is what he has to do. This is the  _ right _ thing to do. He knows, sort of, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Bruce will be sad, that he’ll miss him. But it’s not because he loves him, not really. He just thinks he does because that’s what Harvey does. He blinds people with charm and manipulates them into thinking they actually care about him, but they don’t. They  can’t, because that’s not the real him.

Harvey isn’t even sure who the real him is anymore.

He got into music because of Bruce. Law school because of some chick he bought coke from during a manic episode. He learned how to bake because of Jay. He feels like a patchwork doll that’s been sewn together from the bits and pieces he’s stolen from the people in his life. Pretty on the outside, but dark and hollow on the inside.

And he’s unraveling.

Everything is coming apart again and Harvey doesn't know if he can be stitched back up this time. 

He looks at the empty bottle of pills lying on its side in front of the bottle of Jack Daniels and the full realization of what he’s done hits Harvey like a kick to the gut. Panic and adrenaline shoot through him and propel him to the bathroom. He sticks his fingers down his throat and tries to purge the pills, but he doesn’t know how much that helps. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He doesn't know what to  _do._

Shaking, with tears running down his face, Harvey pulls the phone on the nightstand down on the floor and leans against the bed. It takes his trembling fingers three times to get Bruce’s number right, then it barely rings once before Bruce answers the phone, saying Harvey’s name like a question on the other end, like a prayer.

Harvey closes his eyes and lets Bruce’s voice wash over him. God, he loves him. He loves him so goddamn much. He's such an asshole. He's such a _monster._ God, why couldn’t he have just --

“I need help,” Harvey's voice breaks, scratchy and hoarse from throwing up liquor and pills.

“I’m coming,” Bruce says and Harvey doesn’t ask him how he'll find him.

He just knows that he will. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please, please don't read if you think you may be triggered by suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, overdosing, or purging. This is not a happy fic, but it is something I had to write. Harvey's thoughts are disordered and dysfunctional and if you are having similar thoughts please, _please_ reach out to someone for support. It can be the suicide prevention line, it can be a friend or a family member, a therapist, a mental health clinic, etc. Just please know that there are resources out there to help you cope with these thoughts and you do not have to suffer.


End file.
